Golden Boy
by Cindy Lucy
Summary: Late at night, Cedric Diggory reflects on things Hufflepuff's aren't supposed to feel. What the fallen hero really felt months before his death.


Title: Golden Boy

Character: Cedric Diggory

Rating: PG for once in my life

Genre: Angst (Is there really any other worth reading?) 

Preface: Just so you know, I'm not JK Rowling, go figure! The characters in here aren't mine. Once again, go figure!

I hope you will enjoy this little ficlet. Half-way through writing it, I realized I was actually writing about myself. Not that I'm a hero or anything… but I think we all at one point or another try and put up a façade… act like we're not hurting when we really are. I could be way off base here, maybe it's only that way with Cedric and I. At any rate, thanks for reading. Comments are always appreciated!

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The common room is silent; it usually is in the Hufflepuff house after midnight. No one dares stay up any later. Someone might chastize them for their impropriety and that would mean confrontation. No Hufflepuff could stand that. Confrontation. That meant not playing it safe. And yet, here I am. Sitting in the dark common room, emotionless gray eyes fixed on the dying flames smoldering in the hearth. 

Seven years ago to this day, a musty hat was placed on my head. Well, over my head really. No one back then would have thought the scrawny, awkward boy of yester-year would turn into the strapping young man, idolized by all. 

That hat could read my thoughts, as it reads everyone's I imagine. Back then I pleaded with it to put me in Hufflepuff. My family practically founded this Hogwart's branch. "Hufflepuffs are noble people Cedric," my father had said all my life. "The kindest and best of men have lived proudly under the Hufflepuff banner. I could ask nothing better for my own son."

And so I plead with the hat, though it said it had other plans in mind. Eventually it conceeded, and I began the course layed out to me by all the other Diggory men and women. The course of playing it safe. 

I remember sighing with relief when thehat had obeyed. Not because the house held any special meaning to me personally, but because I couldn't bare the look on my father's face if he knew I was not like the rest of the family. And so I joined the house of the badger and the Fat Friar, allowing myself to be surrounded by the yellow and black—the same colors I silently curse now. 

Now, seven years later, here I sit, alone with only the struggling flames and a bottle of smuggled Fire Whiskey to keep me company. Probably not the smartest of ideas—alcohol always makes me muse. I take a swig of the dark liquid, feeling it burn all the way down my throat; something unpleasant, yet reassuring. 

I begin to think of the raven-haired girl and an uncharacteristically cruel smile forms on my perfectly pure lips. I stole her from him. I knew he wanted her, and yet I took her. Harry Potter. He has suffered more then I could or care to think about. I know his life has been anything but happy, rumours have kept me informed. Yet knowing this, I still took her. I have everything and could have done even better then Cho, but Harry wanted her. So I stole her. A Hufflepuff would never do that.

Tonight they announced the Tri-Wizard tournament, and the entire student body looked at me like their savior—Hufflepuffs especially. No one would ever admit it in this house, but they crave the pleasure that only comes after vindication. The same one that fueled my obtainment of Cho. But that emotion is not appropriate for a Hufflepuff, and so continues the eternaly agonizing repression. 

And of course they all looked at me, why wouldn't they? So I flashed my mechanical smile I've perfected over the years, showing just the minimum amount of pearly teeth to portray humility yet exhileration at this new opportunity. 

If anyone knew though; if they could only fathom… But they don't know and they will never know… For I am just the "heroic Hufflepuff" built for honor. Anything less would dash their dreams, their aspirations, and their hopes—who needs that kind of guilt on their shoulders? 

It's difficult, knowing you are the string that holds people's worlds together. You are the epitome of righteousness in a purely secular sense. But if anyone knew the guilty pleasures you allowed yourself, it would the shatter the fragile glass they insist on walking on. So I try harder and plaster another fake smile on my rebellious, twitching mouth. I repress, and repress, and build yet another wall until I am nothing _but_ walls. 

I take another swig of whiskey as the fire finally decides to let go, giving up the useless battle. Now I am enveloped in a penetrating darkness that is no way near the darkness I feel inside. This is what I am now, dark. This is what I have come to, and they will never know. For I am their hope, their hero, their idol… I am _their Golden Boy._

THE END.


End file.
